


music to bike home by

by star_pilots



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst Lite, Bartender Rey, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Bisexual Poe Dameron, College Student Rey (Star Wars), Cyclist Rey, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, New York Times Crossword Stan Ben Solo, POV Ben Solo, Professor Ben Solo, Rey Needs A Hug (Star Wars), Slow Burn, Some Humor, but also cute nonsense, romcom vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_pilots/pseuds/star_pilots
Summary: A lithe body perched on a bike sped past him, hugging the curb so close that his hand grasped the dome of his mailbox to keep himself upright. A lean arm shot up with tape wrapped fingers, waving over a delicate shoulder.“Sorry!” A lilted voice peeped.~Maz Kanata’s office door was closed when he came to it and Ben could no longer hear any stirring inside. That did not stop him from lingering at it for a breath or two. Then he grabbed a right, then a right, and entered his office. Stepping around his desk, he leaned over it, rolling his sleeves over his forearms and picking up his pen.A tough, two-legged wheeler? Five letters, going straight down.B I K E R, Ben wrote.(College AU! Not teacher/student, just two nerds in love.)
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 20
Kudos: 54





	1. tentwentyten

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is something i've been writing in the brain for a little while. i'm truly just winging it for now, but i hope to update weekly. get ready for some freaking NERDS to fall in love. this story is based loosely on a playlist i made of songs i like to think rey would bike to. this first chapter is called TenTwentyTen for the song by Generationals that i first came up with this story to. i'm not good at spotify stuff but if you guys are interested in more of it lmk. starting with a short first chapter to get the ball rolling them imma crank em out. enjoy!

Ben Solo loved his coffee. Every kind that he could brew from home was welcome. He had a small machine for espresso, a French press for drip coffee, and a cloth for cold brew for when he was feeling bold. He wasn’t exactly a snob about it, but he would certainly do his best to avoid the Foldger’s medium roast that the professor’s lounge had ample stock of. Sure, the overworked and underpaid staff was grateful for the limp supply of caffeine that lined the small wooden table pushed up against the far wall. Little yellow packets of black tea, many labeled ‘decaf,’ fewer labeled otherwise. A few green lost in the little box that, if you dug through them enough, could be found buried underneath. And, always and mostly full, a can of instant coffee mix that could be stirred in a pinch with the hot water attached to the coffee maker.

Ben failed to see the point of it. The coffee pot was normally full when he arrived in the morning and it was an unspoken rule that whoever polished off the previous pot needed only to change the filter, throw a few scoops of Foldger’s over the top, and press the button. Very easy, took little to no time. There were even _laminated_ instructions taped to the wall above it. With his own thermos in hand, a French press’s worth of an Ethiopian blend, he found himself checking the filter when the pot below it was empty, following the _laminated_ directions, and pressing start. He had a vague idea of who the culprit was, but he had neither the energy nor the need to examine further.

Ben chose an espresso for today. It was the first day of the new semester, and he decided to celebrate even if he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. Graduate courses often had well-read, invested participants who did not need him to hold their hand through their work. They were easier, even if they asked more complex questions. They were a marvel to him. At their age, some slightly older or younger depending, they knew exactly what they wanted to say, how they wanted to say it, and who they wanted to be. Confidence was often part of the package, too. At 21, 22, 23… How much could he have done at that age, with that level of certainty? Even if their writing styles were not to his taste, they shined with passion and longing. Promise of a future. They were easier, but they were also harder.

His wariness stemmed from the undergraduates. Many would be taking their first writing courses with him, jumping off from nowhere and having no intentions. Even if they wrote a piece that was impressive for their inexperience, they often had no idea why. Asking for their motivations during workshops was like pulling teeth, begging them to have some idea, any idea, of what they wanted to say. Figuring out other people’s stories for them was not how he liked to spend his time teaching, yet he found himself stuck with the Introductory class regardless.

Amilyn had her own preferences as the Dean. ‘ _Heads of departments should teach Introductory courses at_ least _once a year.’_ Wasn’t the whole point of being the Head of the Literature department, or any department for that matter, to define your own schedule? To confer with your colleagues about what was in the best interests of the students and the faculty? It frustrated Ben to no end.

Annoyance simmered while his espresso brewed. He foamed some milk to near perfection on the machine’s small attachment and poured it over the top. A cappuccino would do. He wiped the nozzle, and his granite countertops for that matter, tending to his kitchen as though it were a garden. The sun slanted through his east-facing back windows.

He had woken early enough to allow himself an easy routine. No rush to make coffee, shower, get dressed and do his crossword. Well, not particularly in that order. He needed the caffeine for the shower part, that much was clear as he padded across his tile floor in his fur-lined loafers. He sipped contentedly for a bit, huddled in his soft, white t-shirt and low hanging sweatpants. Steam from his coffee petted his eyelids open.

Now he was prepared to brace the outdoors. Ben covered his eyes with the brim of one hand while the other held his coffee as he walked quickly to his mailbox. He was fetching his newspaper, eager for the Tuesday crossword, which was just challenging enough, when the blaring of a speaker rounded the corner onto his street. It was garbled, not quite clear enough to make out the exact words, but a phone had music at its highest possible volume. Ben turned to find the source and was nearly thrown onto his back.

A lithe body perched on a bike sped past him, hugging the curb so close that his hand grasped the dome of his mailbox to keep himself upright. A lean arm shot up with tape wrapped fingers, waving over a delicate shoulder.

From a distance, the music took on a strange key as it flowed in a different direction. Ben watched the cyclist depart. A pert bottom was hugged in tight, black shorts that landed mid-thigh. Their legs straightened against the pedals as they approached the light at the end of the block where a slight incline began. A white tank top revealed wiry arms and tan shoulders that loose, chestnut colored hair whipped around as they disappeared.

Ben realized the hand that clutched his newspaper to his chest was sweaty. The ink stuck to his fingers and a bit of his coffee had splashed onto his shirt.

“Goddamn it,” he grumbled, grinding his teeth. So much for a smooth start to the semester.

Ben continued to huff breaths out of his nose all through his shower, dressing, the car ride through traffic on the main road to campus, and straight to his office on the third floor of the Humanities and Sciences building. It was one of the oldest buildings on the small campus. Charming to some, but in desperate need of remodeling to Ben. The professors’ lounge was quaint enough. The walls were lined with oak panels and many of Ben’s favorite titles filled the bookshelves. Not that he needed them. His own copies were safe at home, along with mostly everything else he owned.

His office remained mostly bare since landing his position as Head of the Department the previous year. Only his novels that he was currently reading or referencing for class could be found on the walls beside a lone calendar. The window behind his desk looked out into the courtyard. Ben enjoyed it early in the morning when students and faculty still filtered onto the campus, but he often took his lunch elsewhere as the grass and trees became occupied with raucous voices.

Ben sipped from his thermos. He’d been forced to make a French press for the road seeing as his cappuccino had done a better job of waking up his shirt than his brain. He drank the hot beverage, only allowing a light splash of nonfat milk to heighten the flavors, as he pondered over a five-letter down word clue.

_A tough, two-legged wheeler?_ Ben hated these ones. Why would you make it a question? He spent a few minutes plugging in various combinations that could match with the across clues, then resigned to come back to it. He polished off his coffee and sought to rinse it in the sink of the faculty lounge.

The courtyard behind his office was partially enclosed on three sides in angular ‘U’ shape before it opened out onto the grounds. Ben’s window faced the grounds while the other two faced each other. The faculty lounge was to the left as he exited his office. He made another turn nearing the end of the hall when he heard something. The low timbre of music playing in another room.

The door to the second office from the end of the hall was cracked, letting a sliver of sound pass through it. The excess noise would normally irritate him, but it flowed minutely enough that it wasn’t a nuisance. Ben looked at the office nameplate on the door.

‘ _Maz Kanata: Mechanical Engineering.’_ He leaned against the wall next to the door for a minute, listening. A small band of warm light spilled through the cracked door. Then the sound of a person shuffling around inside made him straighten and proceed toward the lounge again.

Not many people were there when he arrived. A scattered person or two was having coffee while others greeted each other and inquired about their breaks, all laughs and patting backs. He recognized a few of the voices and he knew, for certain, a few of the faces. Ben tucked his chin, letting his hair fall over his forehead, and went to the sink where he rinsed out his thermos. He filled it with cold water and took a generous sip. As much as he enjoyed his coffee, it would lay him out on the floor if he didn’t drink water soon after.

When he turned to leave, he slowed his gait. A head of red and one of white blonde hair communed as they too approached the exit. Both walked straight backed with heads that inclined rigidly to acknowledge each other as they spoke. Ben hung back, pretending to take an interest in the minor changes to the room since the previous semester.

A few posters had already been taped to the refrigerator and the walls, advertising clubs that some of the faculty would be sponsoring. Not reading a word, Ben stared at one of them as he took slow steps, waiting for safe passage out.

As he passed by the coffee station near the exit, he noticed that the pot had been freshly filled, but the can of instant coffee had been opened and used, if the bit of brown powder it sat on was any indication. The bright haired pair had left the room, making a right, and Ben carried on straight to his office.

Maz Kanata’s office door was closed when he came to it and Ben could no longer hear any stirring inside. That did not stop him from lingering at it for a breath or two. Then he grabbed a right, then a right, and entered his office. Stepping around his desk, he leaned over it, rolling his sleeves over his forearms and picking up his pen.

_A tough, two-legged wheeler?_ Five letters, going straight down.

**B I K E R** , Ben wrote.


	2. coo coo coo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i don't know sometimes  
> i be here downtown and i see your face  
> thought i caught that smile today  
> over here, no harm just a look my way
> 
> \- coo coo coo, santigold
> 
> “Shh! I don’t need people thinking I’m ‘loose.’” Ben looked around, making sure no one was listening. It didn’t matter though. Anyone could read his embarrassment from the exposed pink tips of his ears.
> 
> “Ha!” Poe threw his head back. “Trust me, no one thinks that. Do you even know the last time you got laid?”
> 
> “I hate you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: allusions to self-harm, there aren't graphic details by any means. ben wonder's about rey's wrapped arms without knowing anything about her, having only seen her from afar.
> 
> also, im living for including song recs with chapters. (throwback to 2012 when i read my first romione fanfic. please don't throw tomatoes at me.) even better that i'm certain they're something modern rey would like. she kicks ass. this is the song she was listening to in this chapter.

The first few days of the semester went well, as far as Ben was concerned. No graduate courses, only one Literature course and an Introductory Writing course. Both groups of students seemed ready enough to learn, given that many were of those majors or had some experience with the material. Also, he wasn’t stuck with just freshman. Both sets of students were quiet groups, a bit soft-spoken in their introductions, but Ben expected them to step up when the time came.

Or they could withdrawal from the class, as several of them already had. The school’s policy on adding and dropping classes was relaxed in the first few weeks, so this was bound to happen. A bit of shuffling around was common, but four students? Within twenty-four hours?

Ben didn’t think he was asking a lot, but he did lead with an expectation for everyone to be rigorously engaged. One novel would be required for discussion in the Literature course per week. That got some wide-eyed looks from the group.

Ben thought that their program was too lenient in its requirements. His own education had been difficult, intense, but rewarding despite its many drawbacks. It was due to those same drawbacks that he chose to teach at a different university. That was one of the battles he had to pick, so he adapted to some of the school’s laid-back attitudes. That never deterred him from maintaining his belief in thoroughness despite the amount of work to be done by those who remained. But it was also only the first week. He’d have to wait and see.

What he was surprised by was the one or two familiar faces he had seen. No one remarked on it. He had heard a few of his colleagues talking in the past about the steady stream of the same students that they would have almost every semester. They’d laugh amongst themselves about who was the most popular instructor and if they should decide over drinks. Whoever was the least popular would buy. Ben mostly heard these conversations take place from a distance.

He was mulling over the one he had heard yesterday afternoon in the faculty lounge as he made his coffee. French press would do. He didn’t want to form an espresso habit too early in the semester. Did that mean his repeat students wanted to be in his class? The two girls he recognized seemed shy. They even blushed when introducing themselves. It could be that they were there to fulfill extracurricular requirements. His Literary course was formatted to cover a focused genre requirement, but the Introductory Writing course, the one they were in, wasn’t even to their majors. Ben shrugged it off. If they wanted to go out of their way, that was fine with him, as long as they were willing to work.

Ben waited two minutes, then pressed the button down to filter his coffee. He poured it out, with a splash of nonfat milk, and took it to his front door.

Standing on the threshold, he assessed the sunshine. It was strong for that time of year. He grumbled to himself, his pale skin fidgeting under his pajamas. As he made his way towards his mailbox, sound emerged. He stood back and waited, holding his breath.

The same tan, athletic body passed him on the shoulder of the road. Fuzzy music and chestnut hair drifted around her.

She wasn’t rushing today. Ben realized that he had woken up a bit earlier than usual and had started his routine ahead of time. It seems that she must have, too. His hand clenched around his mug as he watched her drift past him. Trying not to gawk at what he could now see was a perfect round ass perched on her tiny bike seat, he opened his mailbox and shuffled through the few meager envelopes. He glanced over his shoulder again.

She was stopped at the red light at the end of his block. _Good_. This was a busy road that led directly into the center of town as well as the campus. Black bike shorts and a white t-shirt hugged her body. That and some gauze and tape lined her fingers and forearms. Ben winced. He had been teaching young people, late teenagers and up-and-coming adults, long enough to have an idea of what might lay underneath.

A small, white string was slung around her hips and a backpack right above it. The foot that held her in place tapped along to the music on her speaker that Ben could only just hear. He held his breath when she stretched. Long, lean arms reached up toward the beaming sun and her fingers fanned like two sunflowers above her.

Then she pushed off, standing high on her pedals to press through the green light up the hill and out of sight. Ben snapped his mouth shut, took a sip of his coffee, and returned inside.

Ben tried to focus on his crossword, filling in the six-letter _Sunday newspaper section_ clue with ease. ‘ **C O M I C S** _,’_ Ben scoffed. His thoughts kept shifting to the girl and her curves and the bandages she wore.

She looked young. Not extremely, not a high schooler. Well, it was tough to say, given that her hair and her helmet obscured her face, but the confidence of her body cutting through the air seemed to communicate some experience. With what, Ben did not know.

But he still wondered about what lay hidden. A strange weight settled in his chest as he thought about what could cause her such pain, so young, that she would have to hide.

It wasn’t very hard for him to come up with a few ideas. Yet, he himself hadn’t resorted to the same things that she might. He shook his head. As if his own reactions to pain were commendable. The fingers of his right hand flexed and fisted, his pinky tracing the thickened scar tissue at the edge of his palm. Yeah, as if _that_ could be considered proactive behavior.

Vibrations startled him out of his thoughts, and he checked his phone. He took one look at the caller ID and turned it upside down.

“Speak of the devil,” Ben mumbled into the cradle of his hands. He let the phone ring itself out, then turned and stared at his crossword again, ignoring the single pulse that signaled a voicemail had been left.

 _Blithering fool,_ three-letters.

Ben knew this one. “ **A S S** ,” he wrote.

He made decent time getting to campus. Not having to restart his routine from the beginning helped. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the faint tune he had heard the girl playing on her speaker. The drums. Those were what he could hear from a distance. He focused on what he had heard so briefly and tried not to think about the voicemail burning a hole in his inbox. Steel drums, he thought, like a heartbeat, his fingers tapping against leather. The stereo in his car went mostly unused unless he tried to hear the news. If only he’d caught some of the words, he could have looked up the song and listened to it, following her path up the road. His fingers flexed over the steering wheel as he thought of the long stalks of her arms.

Walking through to halls to his office, he felt more at ease. He’d even found a good parking spot, and there were a few clouds to break up the almost unbearable heat of the sun. On the way into the old building, he didn’t try to avoid his colleagues. He nodded at a few of them, not seeing any that he was on comfortable speaking terms with, and tension fell from his shoulders. That was, until, he received a text. Glancing at the name, he decided to wait until he was seated with the door locked to have the freedom to react as he needed to.

Ben rolled his sleeves and fished his crossword out of his bag. His teeth dragged over his bottom lip in preparation, then he took a breath and read the text. The back of his phone could have bent backwards with how tightly he gripped it in his palm. The phone itself was tiny, not the newest model, but it could have been a thousand-pound weight.

_I hope you’ve had a good first few days of the semester. Mine starts today. One year since you became Department Head! Congratulations are in order. If you have some time soon to celebrate, we’d love for you to have dinner with us. It’s been too long. We miss you!_

Ben turned the phone face down on his desk and gripped the roots of his hair. Then, he took several deep breaths to avoid sending his hand past the blinds and through the window behind him. When his scalp began to burn, his breathing slowed. He focused on the tingling sensation in his hands and on his head as he untangled his fingers.

“Way to fucking tag-team me,” he said into the many tiny, blank squares in front of him. **A S S** stared him right in the face. “Yeah, well I’m not the only one.” He jammed his index finger into his chest, hard enough to make a gentle knocking sound. His hair fell in his eyes as he shook his head. Black covered the top half of his vision. The bottom was still white, blank spaces.

“I’ll answer when I’m damn well ready,” he said, then tried to re-immerse himself.

 _“Let ___!”_ Four letters, going down.

“Oh, fuck you,” Ben said, then filled in “ **I T G O**.”

Usually his crossword could effectively distract him, but a headache had begun to form between his temples and his left eye twitched. His stomach felt a little uneasy, too. Quickly, he unscrewed the cap on his thermos, chugging down all of its contents. Not enough water, coffee would knock him down if he didn’t hydrate. He used his bare wrist to wipe the water that had dripped down his chin in his haste and left to go refill it.

He looked at his feet as they carried him, turned in a bit at the toes, toward the faculty lounge. Having to force a conversation with anyone would only further aggravate his current unease, so he avoided looking up as people passed him.

Soft humming surfaced as he approached the end of the hallway. Surprised that someone would be chipper enough to _hum_ this early in the morning, Ben looked up to see the source. A youngish woman, with an abundance of, Ben had to admit, adorable freckles. Her long fingers twirled a stirrer in a steaming paper cup. Black streaked her nails and knuckles. Was that ink? Then he stopped dead in his tracks.

 _Wrapped arms girl on bike humming in the Humanities and Sciences building and she’s_ cute. The time that it took Ben to notice her and for her to pass him by could not have been more than a few seconds, but he could have spent God knows how much longer just watching her walk away. She hummed to her own internal tune and swung her hips just enough that Ben had to brace himself on the wall next to him. He snapped his slack jaw shut as she walked through the second to last door, closing it behind her. It did not close entirely, though. A small sliver of warm light slipped through the cracks.

Ben realized he would look ridiculous to a passerby, gawking at the wall, so he proceeded to the sink and filled his thermos in a daze. The cool water eased his headache, but his brain still felt fuzzy.

The coincidence wasn’t lost on him. Well, her route, as far as Ben had seen, followed the same one as his own to get to campus. It wasn’t outlandish that she’d be making her way to the university. But here? _Here,_ here? On the same floor? The same _hallway_? His throat felt dry. As he chugged more water, a good portion shot down the wrong pipe when a hand thumped between his shoulder blades. Then hand kept thumping as Ben keeled over, coughing uproariously and drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“Jesus Ben don’t die on me. I don’t know CPR,” Poe said, chuckling awkwardly. He offered his winning smile when Ben straightened. Ben thought it was wasted on him, but he guessed grinning like that wasn’t exhausting when you were naturally charming.

“That wasn’t part of your occupational training?” Ben rasped. He cleared his throat and shoved his fist into his sternum. The eyes on him began to turn back to their work.

“I cannot think of one reason why that would be useful for advising. Maybe if I’d followed my true calling of becoming a lifeguard,” Poe shook his head. He wiped at the top of Ben’s wet shirt with his own sleeve. Ben batted it away and grabbed some paper towel from the dispenser. He blotted at his collar and opened an extra button to air out.

“Yeah man, loosen up a little! Start off the semester strong, show a little chest!”

“Shh! I don’t need people thinking I’m ‘loose.’” Ben looked around, making sure no one was listening. It didn’t matter though. Anyone could read his embarrassment from the exposed pink tips of his ears.

“Ha!” Poe threw his head back. “Trust me, no one thinks that. Do _you_ even know the last time you got laid?”

“I hate you.”

Poe gripped his shoulder, directing him to the coffee station. “Yup, you always have. Even in the play pen.”

“You literally dragged me around by my ears and hair. This,” Ben gestured to the general vicinity of, well, his whole head, “is all your doing. The hatred is just another byproduct.”

“Don’t blame me for how pretty you are,” Poe said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “That’s all Leia.”

Ben took a sip of water to avoid having to respond. Poe noticed, of course. Not like a friend would notice. They’ve known each other since they were babies. It didn’t count.

“How’s it going, you know, with them?” Poe asked, trying to tread carefully, like Ben was a snake ready to strike. He wouldn’t though, despite how tightly his body was coiled.

Today had already been a whirlwind. Too many confrontations butting into too many realizations. He’d learned to anticipate the former, but the latter…Ben shrugged. Tension melted away into exhaustion.

Poe gripped his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Listen, man. Don’t worry about it. They’ll come around.” Ben shrugged again. They weren’t the ones that needed to come around, but Poe didn’t know that.

Ben wanted to steer away from the confrontations he had already been bombarded with by ten o’clock that morning. A thought dawned on him. Poe knew the faculty here like the back of his hand. He’d spent years working directly with students, and the most recent few as Head of Student Success. This could be safer territory, but only if he proceeded with caution.

What was the name on the plate? Maz something. “How long has Maz been teaching here? I only just noticed her office over there.” His head jerked in the direction of the hallway.

Poe stirred some sugar in his cup. “Maz Kanata? Engineering?” Ben nodded and Poe blew out a breath, searching the air around him for a number. “Damn, I’d say… I don’t know, about fifteen years? More?” Ben eyes widened. “She spent some time at Alderaan–” Ben winced, “–before transferring here. She’s tenured, I know that.”

None of this was matching up. That woman he saw go into Maz’s office couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old.

“I think she’s actually taking the semester off for research. I heard some advisors saying that students were complaining that they couldn’t work with her on their theses.” Poe looked at Ben again, his brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t…I saw a woman go in her office. A young woman though.” Ben shook his head. If she was one of Maz’s students, she wouldn’t be hanging out in her office while she wasn’t there. Or, at least, Ben didn’t think she would.

“Hm. Maybe she’s watering her plants or something.” The look in Poe’s eyes made Ben take another sip to hide his face. “Listen, once we get settled into the semester and the Add/Drop period ends and I can live my life again, we should grab a drink.” Ben rolled his eyes. “Seriously!”

“Someone put you up to this?” Ben mumbled.

“No Ben,” he said, eyes intent. “Not everything is an elaborate plot against you, ya know.” Ben puffed a breath through his nose. “The sooner you realize that I’m your _friend_ , and not just because we were in diapers together, the sooner I can help you solve the mystery of the,” Poe leaned in conspiratorially, “’young woman,’ in Maz’s office.”

“If I get a drink with you will you shut up?”

“Hell yeah, buddy. That’s what friends are for.”

*

Ben had his Literature course to teach today and he was grateful for the distraction. The course itself was focused on surveillance literature. Much of the syllabus had a dystopic edge, but he blended in some articles and realist pieces that spoke to their society’s current obsession with connectivity. Ben didn’t mean it to be a cautionary course, but he did agree with the sentiment that too much easy access to each other’s information could only lead to more political and personal unrest. The effort to not delve into his own reasons for those beliefs and to not dwell on the question of the woman had him battling with headaches on and off for the remainder of the afternoon. Small reprieves came in the form of downing his thermos of water and, subsequentially, frequent bathroom breaks between finishing his crossword.

His leg jiggled under his desk as _One who might become a fiancée_ for four letters, down, danced on the tip of his tongue. His hands had been tight on his scalp for the past several minutes, and both were growing sore. A walk might let it come to him, so he took off briskly for the restroom.

Four letters, starting with an ‘A.’ The pinky of his right hand rubbed back and forth over the scar tissue on his palm. He turned a corner, mind elsewhere, and barreled directly into a slight figure. Small hands grabbed his elbows to steady them both.

“Sorry!”

Ben recognized that lilted voice. He looked down.

 _God. She’s got_ dimples. _And her teeth._ The woman was beaming despite the flush of her cheeks. Why would she be embarrassed? She dropped her hands and used one of them to tuck her hair behind her ear with black-stained fingers. Even more freckles were exposed, kissing her cheekbones and temples.

“ **A M I E** ,” Ben said. Actually, he nearly yelled it. The woman’s eyes widened up at him in some combination of shock and confusion. He couldn’t take it. He swerved around her, heading straight for the single person bathroom where he promptly slammed his forehead against a poster for the Student Senate once he was locked in.

“You big, dumb fuck,” he whispered against the door.


	3. cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m acting like a love-struck teenager.
> 
> In order to relax, he decided to finish his crossword. His hand was trembling over the page.
> 
> Ben shook out his whole body, getting out of his seat and jumping up and down. Then he got on the ground and did a few push-ups, too. Endorphins. He needed endorphins. Brushing his hair out of his face, he leaned over his desk and filled out all of the remaining clues. 
> 
> Starting points, seven letters across. ‘G E N E S E S.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know what it's like in more difficult times  
> i was treading a line  
> between drive and survival  
> if i could go back, see myself as a child  
> i'd say, "stick to your guns, girl  
> in fact, go get that rifle"
> 
> cake - lily allen
> 
> this one took me longer to get out, but its also a longer chapter. you want a slow burn? three chapters in and we're just MEETING PEOPLE. anyway, comments and kudos motivate the hell outta me, especially now that my semester is drawing to a close. my prof said my portfolio is solid and i dont need to work on it much more, so expect more updates :) love!

After knocking his forehead on the door several more times, Ben made sure to take enough time in the bathroom so that the woman could return to wherever she was going, even if she crawled there. He decided to lay off on the water for the rest of the workday so as to avoid any more encounters that would make him look like a complete _blithering fool._ He looked both ways, peeking his head out around the door, then fast-walked to his office, keeping his head tucked and not daring to glance at the second door from the end of the hall as he passed it. Despite the gentle humming he heard inside, like a siren calling to him. No, he walked straight on.

Now he sat in his office, staring at his desk. Arms crossed as he rubbed the skin on the outer edges of his elbows. They nearly burned with her touch. If he looked at them, he expected they would be red. Red as the scorching heat of his face when he almost knocked her to the ground, even redder when he took in her delicate features, searching for a word of a beloved person, and shouting it in her face. Even her shock and confusion were lovely to see. So many expressions fluttering over her face in so few seconds, and every one of them made the skin of his palms damper.

_God, how much of masochist am I?_

Ben couldn’t even fill in the clue that she’d been able to trigger in his mind when they collided. The act of writing it in, of being reminded of the bubbling goop that was his brain, and subsequently what came out of his mouth every time he saw her, was too much for him to grapple with.

He should apologize to her. He really should. But how? I’m sorry for almost knocking you over with my stupid, huge, bulldozer body? I’m sorry for screaming in your face what bordered on a proposal? I’m sorry that I watched you walk into the office you’re currently using, like a creep, and that was how I knew where I could find you? And how can I do any of this properly without even knowing your name?

Ben leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. He groaned into the cup of them and it bounced off of his empty walls, smacking him in the face.

_Not to mention she didn’t even recognize me from almost knocking me over the first time._

Ben considered it. She _had_ almost thrown him to the pavement herself, that first day of the semester. A woman going twenty-miles-per-hour on a bike on a busy street was bound to do more damage than a little hallway mishap. Then, Ben didn’t even know her face. If she wasn’t dressed so distinctly, he might not have recognized her at all. She, herself, didn’t seem to recognize him in that moment.

Yet, she could put a face to him now, and avoid him at all costs if she wanted to. The easy smile that bloomed on her face was kind and polite. She might humor him, if he ever tried to speak to her or apologize for what he did. That didn’t mean she would want to. That talking to him wouldn’t be an uncomfortable task for her, and the last thing Ben wanted to be anymore was a burden.

That was why he should apologize, and now. Especially because it wasn’t her fault. Side-stepping him and having to go out of her way would be more difficult in the long run. Hell, he should do it even if it _was_ her fault. What normal person would expect a human telephone pole to mobilize in a university hallway?

The only word he’d ever heard her say was ‘sorry,’ sweet and accented. He wanted to hear more words fall from her lips. He wanted to hear her say his name, but not before he heard her own. Ben needed to wrestle forth whatever charm, whatever grace, whatever...social skills he _may_ have inherited and do it. So, Ben did something he had not done since moving into this office last year. Getting out of his seat, he pulled at the beaded, silver chain of the blinds, and opened them.

The sun filtered in, warm and bright, washing away the sterility of the LED bulbs in the ceiling. He would turn them off in a moment, but first he had to check.

From his position on the bottom of the ‘U’ shaped building, where he could look out into the green courtyard, he could also glimpse into some of the offices on the left and right sides. Since the office she was using was near the end of the hall, he didn’t have to squash his cheek to the glass to try to see. From here, he wouldn’t be able to see her, but maybe he could see some of the soft light that filtered through her door, the one that she never seemed inclined to shut all the way behind her.

Starting at the far end, where the wide faculty lounge window was situated, he counted in three windows. Nothing would have stood out about it to anyone idly looking, but the faint yellow hues that shone onto the windowpanes were all the confirmation Ben needed. He turned back to his seat and rested his forehead on his desk. The rapid pulse of his heart was audible.

_I’m acting like a love-struck teenager._

In order to relax, he decided to finish his crossword. There were only four clues left, including the one he was too ashamed of filling out. This was the first step in shaking it off and moving forward. Then the second step…His hand was trembling over the page.

Ben shook out his whole body, getting out of his seat and jumping up and down. Then he got on the ground and did a few push-ups, too. Endorphins. He needed endorphins. Brushing his hair out of his face, he leaned over his desk and filled out all of the remaining clues.

_Starting points,_ seven letters across. ‘ **G E N E S E S**.’

Ben checked the time on his phone. _5:04pm._ Okay, he’d go now. He grabbed his bag and shoved whatever was on his desk into it, saving the rest of his work for tomorrow. Fridays he didn’t have any classes, but he still came in to get any work done or readings prepared. Slinging it across his shoulders, he shut off his lights and made his way down the hall.

His right pinky fondled his palm. It grew warmer under his ministrations. He turned the corner. A few people were still filtering around and about the building. Most of the undergraduate courses concluded by this time, but the master’s program students usually held classes over the next few hours. A few haggard looking people passed him, noses in books or blinking wearily.

As he approached the door, he could tell something was off. The walls around it didn’t hum, nor did any shifting of a body pierce the air around it. The door was closed, with all the cracks around it dark, and when Ben knocked with one knuckle and breath held, there was no answer. Ben blew out the breath and stared at the name plate. The one that didn’t even name the person he’d seen go inside. It told him nothing.

As Ben turned back, heading toward the parking lot, hands now in fists in his pockets, he tried to decide whether he was relieved or disappointed.

Traffic on the way home went largely unnoticed. His fingers clenched on the steering wheel. With the combination of his parents calling and having made a fool of himself, he had enough to mull over on the ride.

When Ben got home, he worked out. He needed a distraction from the rapid overturning of thoughts in his head, none of them having clarified in the slightest while he had driven. He pushed his body until his muscles burned, his skin tingled, and his hair was damp with sweat. Then he made himself dinner and stared at the blank screen of his phone while he ate.

They couldn’t be avoided forever. It wasn’t even that they’d fought. Every time they’d reached out, he just wasn’t in the headspace to entertain them. That and, since Han flat out refused to text anyone, trying to maintain a civil conversation that way was out of the picture. Ben forked some pasta and chewed.

Maybe he could text his mother. Let her know that he was unexpectedly bogged down already, or something. If he did that, though, he’d have to answer the dinner question. That wasn’t going to happen. Not yet at least. He needed to come around to it. His head dropped into one hand, weariness over the cycle of his circumstances overcoming him.

But maybe he could prepare himself. Get geared up for it, at least. It was when he was caught unawares that it grated on him most. Portraying normalcy to avoid conflict was not his strong suit, not like it was his mother’s. He had the training, that much was true, but executing it was not as easy.

But he could prepare. Ben turned his phone over on the table and tapped it. Then he opened up his voicemail. At first, he tried to read its transcription, but _he_ could hardly understand Han’s gruff voice over the phone. There were more blanks in the transcription than there were real words, and many of them weren’t even in his vocabulary. So, he sighed, put on the speaker, and listened.

*

Ben yawned into his hand twice before he started his car. The bags under his eyes blinked at him in his rearview mirror before he turned in his seat and backed into the road.

Once stopped at the light he yawned again. Despite all that Ben was faced with yesterday, he barely slept, turning and turning in his bed with sound of his father’s voice winding him deeper into restlessness. He resigned himself to an earlier start to his day, taking a few books with him for potential supplementary reading. They were more to occupy himself than his students. He scratched his head and looked out the passenger side window.

Then he whipped his head around and looked straight ahead, but not before cracking the window an inch.

Music filtered through. Through the muffle of car engines and wind throwing it in different directions, he heard a feminine voice singing. The singer’s voice was also accented similarly to the woman’s, based on how little he had heard. Ben glanced over his shoulder at her.

She didn’t seem to notice him. Stained fingers fidgeted with the tape on her knuckles. Her calves were flexed and toned as her toes held her stationary. It was a chillier morning. The sun shone, bright and unobstructed, but a wind wrapped around every solid surface, so she wore a cropped, orange zip-up, showcasing her narrow waist. The taper of it was hugged by another pair of long, skintight shorts, with that white string slung about her hips again. Her lips moved, mouthing along, folding the other woman’s words into her mouth.

Then she pushed off, and Ben realized the light had changed. The speed limit would decrease soon, once they entered the school zone, but for now Ben watched her fall back from their pace, side-by-side, and then pump her legs up the hill in his rearview mirror.

From a distance, Ben saw her cut against gravity, surging upward on long, doe-like legs. Her hair flew back from her head, exposing the column of her neck. She could be made of marble, but the fluidity of her body suggested otherwise.

Once she crested the hill, she gained on the traffic of cars that were following the same route downtown. When they entered the school zone that was littered with speed bumps and the speed limit decreased to twenty miles per hour, she rapidly came up the rear. Her front tire was level with his by the time they both turned into the Humanities and Sciences building’s parking lot.

Given his early start, he was able to land a good parking spot. From his mirror, Ben could see her dismount and lock her bike on one of the posts that skirted the building. Maybe if he caught up with her and seemed to recognize her from the day before, he could apologize and explain himself, asking the name of his new office neighbor. That was what he’d do. He locked his car and tucked his keys in his bag, taking a faster pace up the sidewalk.

It was when she unclipped her helmet from under her chin that he felt a sturdy palm land on his back, startling him.

“Up early today?” asked a chipper voice.

Ben ran a hand through his hair, eyes straying from the woman in front of him. “Can you greet me like a normal person, please?”

“Why? So we can have a completely surface level conversation until you go hide in your office?” Poe shook his head. “We’re past that. I don’t need to pretend you’re not weird.”

Ben chuckled and looked down, his hair falling over his forehead. Poe peeked underneath it.

“You alright?”

Ben nodding, blowing out a breath. “Yeah. Long night.” Poe smirked solemnly.

“Given those bags under your eyes, it wasn’t for a good reason, was it?” Ben shook his head and choked out a laugh. His eyes were pulled to the person in front of him. He felt heat in his cheeks.

Poe looked between the two of them, then nudged Ben with a knowing look. “Who’s that?”

Ben swung his gaze towards Poe and didn’t waver. _Don’t fucking blush._ “Who?”

Poe nudged him again and gestured ahead of them. “Her. Your face got red just looking at her.”

_Damn it._ Ben tried to shrug it off. “She’s no one. I don’t know her,” Ben said. It wasn’t a lie. All he knew of her were the wisps that she let others see. He stared resolutely at his feet and he heard Poe cover a laugh as a cough.

They trailed her into the building. Poe didn’t push the subject. They talked instead about the shifting around of faculty, the courses Ben was teaching, what his promotion entailed, and other nonconflicting subjects that Poe steered them toward. That was something Ben appreciated about him. They’d known each other long enough that Ben didn’t need to explain himself. If Ben had friends, he wouldn’t mind if they were like Poe.

For that to happen, he’d have to be more open. He shuttered at the thought. When they approached the entrance to the building, Ben looked up to see the girl holding the door for them. They noticed each at the same time, and the rosiness that spread over her cheeks mirrored what he felt in his own.

A shy smile revealed her dimples. “Hi,” she nearly whispered.

“H-hello,” Ben said, taking the burden of the door from her with such gentleness it was as if she handed him an infant.

Ben saw Poe offer a smile of his own. One that was a bit too mischievous. “Thank you so much,” he said, disrupting their gazes. Her eyes widened. Ben’s eyes shot down only to meet her shapely hips. He cleared his throat. A lump of something between eagerness and awkwardness settled in his chest. They all shuffled into the building.

“I’ll –,” she spun on her heel, the hand that wasn’t swinging her helmet flicked a wave with her taped fingers. “I’ll see you around.” She smiled again and shot off toward the printing labs.

“Yeah,” Ben said to himself as he watched her go. This time, she probably knew it.

“Dude,” Poe snapped him out of his reverie once she was out of earshot. “’She’s _no one_?’ What the hell’s the matter with you?” He shoved him towards the stairs to take them to the third floor.

“Please don’t,” Ben said, stilling cringing at his complete inability to hold a normal conversation with this woman. Poe shook his head.

“Nuh-uh. No. Tell me how you know her. What happened?”

Once they were in the stairwell, Ben groaned into his hands. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Absolutely not. Never before have I seen two adults behave like literal teenagers up close. The looks on your faces,” Poe whistled. “I’m not gonna leave it ‘til you tell me.”

Ben gritted his teeth and resigned himself to his fate. “She’s the…the ‘mystery woman,’” Ben used air quotes to indicate how Poe had phrased it the other day, “that is using Maz’s office.” Poe punched him in the arm. “I’m regretting this already.”

Poe leaned in eagerly. “No way. She can’t be older than, like, twenty-five. Is she a student?” Ben shrugged. “I feel like she is. Must be a TA or something. She looks like a master’s student. She’s got those bags under her eyes.”

Ben hadn’t even noticed those. “I thought you said Maz wasn’t teaching this semester, though?”

“I mean, she’s not,” Poe said, getting loud in his excitement. The echo didn’t help. Ben checked to make sure they were alone. “But she could be using her office or watering her plants or something. What’s her name?”

Ben shrugged again, making a noise of exasperation.

“So how do you know her, then?” Ben was shaking his head, avoiding eye contact. “Oh no. What’d you do?”

“I…I knocked into her in the hallway. Didn’t see her. She almost fell.”

“That’s not so bad, man. You’re a handsome guy, I’d be lucky to bang into you,” Poe winked. Ben’s laugh bordered on hysterical. “Is that all?”

Ben shook his head. “I shouted at her, too.” One of his hands found its way into his hair and gripped.

Poe reached out and yanked on his wrist. “Stop it. Why? Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know!” Someone coming up the stairs raised their eyebrows at the pair of them, then skimmed past them on the landing. Ben lowered his voice. “I was trying to think of a crossword clue and…it came to me when I was looking at her. I yelled it because it popped into my head. Scared the shit out of her, I think.”

Poe put his hands on his hips. “And you didn’t get her name? A cute girl like that, that you’ve now seen several times, and you didn’t think to ask?” Poe didn’t even know about the fact that they shared a route to campus. Neither did she.

“No. I ran to the bathroom,” he mumbled at his shoes.

“You ran…to the bathroom,” Poe said. Ben nodded. “How have ever even kissed a woman?” Ben glared at him. “I swear to God. Can you do me a favor? Can you at least learn her name please? And apologize for screaming in her face?”

Ben wanted to, but he didn’t know how. Poe wouldn’t get off his back until he did it though and having this be a subject that he pried about over drinks was not going to happen. Ben nodded and Poe put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re allowed to get flustered over a pretty girl, but you’re not allowed to turn into a tree every time she talks to you. I’m surprised she even did today.”

Ben agreed.

*

Sighing over the papers that littered his desk, Ben felt like he’d already had enough. The first assignment he’d given to his writing course was to give a brief statement about their interest. A few were interesting, already demonstrating some writing prowess. Others were completely directionless. Hopefully their writing would speak for itself in time.

A similar assignment was given to the Literature course. This one was about their experience thus far with the kind of materials they would be reading. These were a more compelling group, with more reference to other readings that weren’t included in the syllabus but contained some of the same elements. They had also already begun to contribute more in discussion. They were promising so far.

He had a few more of the former classes papers to read through, then his crossword. He’d put it off this morning, overwhelmed by the embarrassment it had caused him the previous day. Having resolved to speak to the woman the next time he saw her, he was allowing himself a reprieve from reading his materials for next week at some point and enjoy ringing in his weekend leisurely.

When he arrived at a point that Ben found just adequate, and by anyone else’s standards bordered on overkill, he rolled his sleeves, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and clicked his favorite pen.

_*Teeth, slangily,_ twelve letters, down, beginning with ‘ **P** ’ and ending in ‘ **S**.’ A ‘ **W** ’ was somewhere in there, about halfway. Hm. If the answer did not surface right away, he would let his mind wander enough so that it might come in some strange string of associations. The tip of his tongue ran over his own teeth. Canines pointed, the rest a bit crooked. He’d refused braces as a teenager in a tantrum over his own individualism. Another degree of separation. The more estrangement the better, even then.

Fingers now in his hair, that line of thought got him nowhere. Ben shook it off. _Teeth. C’mon._ The past twenty-four hours drifted over him, thinking of all the _teeth_ he’d encountered in that span of time.

Brushing his own teeth in the morning. Deciding to floss after a shameful period of not having done so. Poe’s knowing smile that Ben tried to dismiss.

Teeth. Eating. Smiling. Dimples. Small hands on his arms. Ben leaned forward and wrote quickly, **“P E A R L Y W H I T E S,** ” pressing a hand to his cheek, feeling the skin crinkle under his palm.

_Dessert add-on,_ twelve letters, also going down. Chin in hand, he thought of his own desert preferences. Chocolate. Now and as a kid. When he was very young, his order at the ice cream shop near his home was two scoops of chocolate, with hot fudge and chocolate sprinkles. Just thinking about eating that much sugar made Ben’s teeth feel fuzzy, but back then, he’d eat it so quickly that he would only have a few bites left by the time his father paid and walked them outside to sit on the little wooden bench. They would do that a lot, him and Han, much to his mother’s chagrin.

Now that Ben thought of it, he did not think there was ever a time when Han turned him down when he would ask to get a scoop. His father’s face would light up, and they’d hop right in the car or swing around on their way home, going in the opposite direction just to make the stop. Every time, Han would say yes. By then, Ben was already a moderate child and their expeditions in the Falcon were becoming infrequent. And every time he finished his ice cream, Han would laugh and wipe at the chocolate covered corners of his mouth with one calloused thumb. In his other hand, vanilla ice cream with a generous heap of maraschino cherries would lay forgotten.

Twelve letters, beginning with an ‘ **F**.’ Ben wrote, “ **F R U I T T O P P I N G.** ”

A sigh pressed through his lips. He had to call him back. And text his mother. And muster some amount of patience so that it wouldn’t end up on the list of failed attempts. His phone indicated it was coming up on five o’clock. Ben would finish his crossword and do something he wouldn’t normally do. He would go out for a drink. Hopefully a bit of courage would find its way into his glass.

*

His plaid button down lay open, revealing a white t-shirt as he drove. There were a few bars near the edge of campus, but those were a bit too close for comfort. The possibly of running into a student, or worse, a colleague, made him wind a bit further downtown towards the outskirts. Beyond the main street that was home to various fast casual joints; pizza shops, ice cream, and cluttered bars and clubs, there were some more upscale, less youth frequented spots. A few of the restaurants he’d frequented as a kid with his parents were scattered through this area. A peak through the windows revealed the same soft lighting, the same polished silverware, the same, though washed, linens. Ben kept driving.

A neon light in a window caught his eye. He pulled over to the curb and read the small sign that hung above the door. “The Outpost.” Looked promising enough. Ben parked and locked his car and made his way to the door.

A man with a red beard streaked with white made the flattering gesture of checking his ID. Fridays, Ben thought, always on the lookout. The floor was still clean. His shoes, remarkably, did not stick to the floor as he walked. Fairy lights wound around and around the post that curved over the top of the bar and, though he didn’t see a bartender, the old, warped surface that cradled the drinks of two middle-aged men was polished to shine. He settled himself at the far corner, next to a rubber mat with a few spiked tickets. When he leaned forward against the bar, lacing his fingers together, he found the bartender.

A head of long brown hair was buried in, what Ben determined was, the dishwasher. Pale arms that glowed blue under the beer logo mounts on the walls strained as they reached inside. Metal clanked together at regular intervals.

Eventually, a muffled ‘Yes!’ echoed inside the metal cube. It was immediately followed by a rush of water. The figure rocked back, sputtering, and slammed the door closed. Ben’s breath caught as they wiped their face on the black mottled bandages around their wrists.

Face screwed up as she wiped away the suds, Ben was frozen in place. What were the odds? Ben couldn’t guess. He got that from Han.

She stood and wiped her hands on a rag that hung from the string tied around her waist. Next to it was a metal bottle opener. Ben noticed that the string was a shoelace. The little aglets were frayed slightly at the ends. Every time he looked at her, something new emerged. Then their eyes met. The ends of her teeth revealed themselves in the beginnings of a smile, one of recognition, and Ben said the first thing that came to mind.

“ _Woah._ ”


	4. dreams of a star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> young kid playing star wars  
> from a small village, wasn't much to explore...  
> upgrade to a yamaha, dreams of a star  
> but living like marcel proust
> 
> didn't sell my soul to shoreditch - star slinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes the song doesn't have much to do with the chapter, but i like that verse and think its applicable.
> 
> also, we have reached their first meeting. and guess what, it's sexy.
> 
> enjoy, and happy star wars day nerds!

Ben’s complete inability to articulate himself went unremarked by the woman. Instead, she flashed him the most brilliant, if a bit curious, smile he’d ever seen. Ben wanted to curl up in the pockets it made in her cheeks, warmed by the sweet blanket of their flush.

_God, they were quite the pair of blushing babes, weren’t they?_

“Uh-uhm,” Ben’s voice cracked. He coughed into his fist and made to start over, but the hand that she stuck out towards him beat him to it.

“I’m Rey!” Was she breathless? Ben tucked his large hand into her much smaller one. His teeth clamped down on a sigh at the feeling of her skin. It seemed that she gripped his own a little too tightly, and for a little too long. Not that he minded.

“Ben,” he said, impressed by the levelness of his tone.

The grass is green. The sky is blue. The sun shines and this beaming creature is named _Rey._

“Nice to meet you. I mean, actually meet you. Without the fumbling and the –,” she cleared her throat, “ –the shouting.” Ben wanted to duck his head in shame, but he was too intrigued by the look on her face. A culmination of many things.

“Yeah, um, I’m really sorry about that.” He found a seam in the wood and flicked his nail over it. “I’d been meaning to tell you, but I hadn’t run into you again. Until today at least.”

Rey shifted her feet, her hips flicking one way, then another. “Well, surely you didn’t come all the way here to tell me that?” Eyebrows furrowed uneasily, and Ben realized she thought he’d followed her.

“Oh god, no. I mean, Poe, the guy who was with me, he’s known me since we were kids, and I _know_ he wouldn’t stop harassing me if I explained my – my ‘fumbling’ in front of him.” She giggled. His nail dug into the wood seam at the sound, trying to ground himself. “I came here for a drink because…I’m trying to work through something. Boost my courage a bit.” She nodded empathetically. “But I shouldn’t have waited to apologize to you. You deserve it. Even if it made me look like an idiot more than I already do,” he said, a self-deprecating chuckle emerged, then he pressed his lips together, trying to keep his trap shut. Today had him babbling to not one, but _two_ people in longer increments than he had in months. Outside of class, anyway. Outside of some obligation.

A small, taped hand moved closer to where his own jabbed the wood of the bar. The black on her gauze was shiny, oily. “Hey,” he looked up. Her eyes were soft and devoid of pity. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just a goofball.” Ben laughed loud enough to draw the attention of the two men conversing. Rey noticed his line of vision, glared at the men, and jut her chin at them just once. They immediately turned back to their drinks. Ben watched one of them rub the back of his neck.

“I don’t think anyone’s called me that, like, ever.” ‘ _Like.’ Pfft, idiot._

“Well, someone had to. And it takes one to know one. You weren’t the only one at fault there,” she cast her eyes down, suddenly shy.

“What do you mean? You were trying to get thrown to the ground by a Redwood?”

Something passed over her eyes. “Not exactly. Though I haven’t been before and am willing to try.” Ben’s jaw clenched. “But I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going. I was a bit distracted myself, you see.”

“You were?”

“Yeah. I do this thing where…okay, so my feet are the exact size of the tiles on the third floor, right?” She kicked up a knee to indicate said feet. Ben nodded. “So, when I walk, sometimes I try to fit my foot in the tile, and kind of stack them on top of each other? I’ve done it since I was a kid. Been through lots of buildings with floors like that.” Her face screwed up in a grimace. “And I don’t know why I bothered to tell you that, but there you go.”

Ben sat with his mouth open, then collected himself. “To make me feel like I’m not an idiot –” but Rey’s head whipped around when she caught one of the patrons looking in her direction. Before he could speak, she opened a cooler under the bar, pulled out a red labeled beer, popped it open with the metal on her waist, and slid it across the bar to him.

At Ben’s raised brows, she said, “The less I have to hear them speak to me, the better.”

“You’ve got some intuition about it, huh?” The look in her eye warmed his coursing blood. It strained against his arms and he felt the veins popping on his wrists. When she turned back towards him, he drew back in his seat.

“Let’s just say I know how to deal with people like them,” she said. A beat of silence passed between them, then her smile speared it. “But you came for a drink, didn’t you? Bit of courage, right?” He nodded. “What can I get you, Ben?”

He tried not shiver at the sound of his name on her tongue. How her lips pressed together around the first letter, parted narrowly around the second, and her tongue flattened against her teeth, the flesh of her gums, on the third. “A whiskey soda, please.”

The bottle neck was already in her hand, pulling a whiskey from the back bar instead of the rack down below. She peeked over her shoulder at him. “You Irish?” she said it in an accent a bit different than her own. Her freckles popped out to him as she said it.

Ben shook his head. “No, just brooding and blushing.”

She laughed then, though it was more like a cackle, rupturing the air around her.

He wished he could record it and listen to it. That sound. That bubble of joy bursting. But instead of that, after she quieted, all he could hear was the music. It was good. Ben couldn’t help tapping his foot on the metal pipe that lined the bottom of the bar, his legs long enough to reach it.

“You in charge of the music?” Ben asked her. She popped a little straw in his drink then slid it towards him. The small glass was wider than the circle of her hands. When Ben made to grab it, the tips of their fingers brushed. Wrapping his fingers around it, the ice clinking and cooling his palm, his index finger easily met his thumb.

Rey was looking at that spot, that small point of contact, with a strange expression. Her eyes were glassy. Ben slowly raised the glass to his mouth, watching her, and put the straw between his lips.

“Uhm, yeah, me mostly,” she responded after a beat, her voice low and quiet. “Sometimes BeeBee will throw something on, but he usually just reads or watches the bar when I need to do something.” Her gaze raised up the length of the straw, over his lips, and to his eyes. “Do you like it?”

Ben’s breath caught. The music. She was talking about the music. “Yeah, I do. It’s good. Fits the space.” _Fits you._

“Good. I’m glad,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at the men and at BeeBee, who had a small beat-up book in his hand, checking on them.

“So, what else do you do? What brings you to Chandrila?” It was like Ben was watching himself from afar. He hadn’t tried to maintain a conversation like this in a while. _Not a bad start._

Rey turned back to him, looking pleased. “Oh! So, I’m working on my Master’s in Mechanical Engineering right now. I’m about a third of the way through. I’m actually an RA right now for a professor.”

“Maz?”

“Yeah! Do you know her?”

“Not personally, but I’d noticed you, uhm, going into her office once or twice.” Ben could have smacked himself. He dove back into his drink. The whiskey was smooth, warm spice on his tongue.

_Yeah, just let her know that you can’t take her eyes off her whenever she’s near._

But she wasn’t perturbed. “Oh, she’s great. She’s,” her eyes got wide, “she’s a lot. But she’s brilliant. I’m learning so, so much from her. Sometimes we’ll just hang out in her garage and mess with all of the equipment. She says it is part of the research, but I think she’s just more physically engaged, like me. And I don’t mind getting paid to play around with her stuff. I’m really excited, I get to TA for her next semester, too.”

“That sounds great,” Ben said, and he meant it. The way her eyes lit up, the large gesturing of her hands, the volume of her voice. This meant a lot to her. The passion filled her body, dictating her movements. That feeling, the ghost of it, began to animate in his stomach. “How long have you been interested in engineering?”

“About as long as I’ve been interested in mechanics. They were my toys growing up.”

“Machines?” he asked, and she nodded. Though he didn’t have the same affinity for it as Rey did, his childhood was also spent in a garage, motor oil in his hands when they were still small, stacking the various old bits of metal that Han handed him from under _The Falcon_ on top of each other. He took a generous sip of his drink. “You’d get along with my dad.”

Rey looked stricken for a moment, then her features softened to the extent that he thought she might cry. “Your dad? Really?”

“Y-yeah,” he fumbled for a moment, unsure of what to make of her reaction. “He uhm, he has an old beat up car that he’s been messing with since I was a kid. And he’s a mechanic, among other things,” he finished with a grumble.

“’Other things,’ huh?” He nodded. “Do you think I do ‘other things,’ too Ben?” She said from under her lashes. Ben’s eyes widened. He forwent his straw and knocked back the rest of his whiskey to Rey’s great amusement. ‘Grossed out’ at the idea of Han doing flirtatious other things and ‘intrigued’ at the idea of Rey doing them bounced back and forth in his head.

“If you do, maybe I need to prepare myself,” he said, sliding his empty glass towards her. She refilled it without asking, again from the back shelf and this time no soda.

“I’d say you should,” he heard her murmur. “I know more about your dad than I do about you. What’s your position at Chandrila?”

He accepted his new drink with a ‘thank you,’ and briefly described his position in the department and the courses. Intermittently she interrupted him (“you teach how to write _stories_?”) and asked him to elaborate a bit, seeing as her field did not require her to be as acquainted with his department.

“What’s your favorite period of literature?” she posed. He stirred the ice in his drink, thinking.

“Probably the Romantics? Some medieval poetry is very interesting, especially in contrast to this point of modernity. Victorian and Georgian are always enjoyable, too.” Rey hummed in agreement. “You like them, too?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, leaning on the bar and propping her chin on her knuckles. “I loved _Frankenstein_ and _Pride and Prejudice._ But I have to say, Mr. Darcy is an _arsehole_.”

Ben almost spit out his drink. “What? No, he’s socially awkward.”

“Doesn’t make him not an arsehole. He took so long to get his act together. And the way he treats her when they meet? I can’t stand him. So broody.”

He tried to contain a wince. Isn’t that what he called himself? Does that make him an… an _arsehole_? A sting settled in his chest, but he managed to chuckle around it.

“The romance of their conflicting circumstances didn’t sweep you off your feet?”

“I mean,” she looked almost pained for a moment, “not really. Well, I guess so. But I just wish he would have hopped off his high horse and just told her how he felt in kinder terms earlier. Lizzy is so clever. I just don’t understand what took him so long.”

Ben considered her for a moment. Hazel eyes narrow and impassioned. Her hands fanned on the wood across from him, gripping the edge with no small amount of ferocity. Yet, they were so small. The palm of his hand could easily contain her whole fist, and his fingers would encompass it entirely, almost to her wrist. The wraps on her wrist.

He wished he could see them, the delicate skin underneath, the blue vein. Feel the rapidly fluttering pulse under his thumb. He wanted to wrap his fingers around both wrists. Fit his index finger and thumb in the ridge between the bones of wrist and hand. To bind them together.

“Well, isn’t that part of it? Ben ventured. He didn’t mean to pitch his voice so low, but it drummed in his ears still. “The yearning? The longing for another person?”

The fabric of Rey’s shirt strained against her small breasts as she breathed in deep. _Small, and so soft._ “It could be, but I know what longing feels like, and it doesn’t feel good.” Her mouth barely moved when she spoke. Eyes also unblinking. Was she angry? At him? No, this wasn’t anger. This was something _else._

“Have you longed for a lover before?” A flood of jealous heat pooled around him, pushing his voice to the brink of a growl.

The seam of her lips parted, exposing her teeth and soft, pink gums. “No,” she breathed out in a quiver. “I hadn’t.”

The men at the other end of the bar tapped on its surface and asked for their tab. Rey dragged her eyes away from his, stopping at his mouth and his chest and his hand wrapped around the base of his drink, fitting snug in his fingers. Only a twinge of annoyance flared at the other men but as he watched her ring them up on the large, old register, his blood pounded to the beat of what she’d said.

_Hadn’t. Hadn’t. Had_ not.

The length of her legs was visible now from this distance. He explored them for a moment, rolling the spiced liquor over his tongue. Rye. Rey had chosen him a rye. And a good one. Dried, crisp amber caught on his taste buds. He glanced at her face and saw that she was looking. Blush tinged her cheeks again as she had a polite conversation, trying to maintain customers. Ben looked away, checking his phone for the time.

“Damn it,” he muttered. He’d been there almost two hours.

“Is everything okay?” Her voice was soft and, though the moment had broken, it was still a bit breathless.

Ben nodded. “Yeah, I just let time get away from me and I still have to take care of something.”

“Right. You came here for a bit of courage. Luck too, I’d wager,” she said. “Do you think you found some?”

Now that she had mentioned it, Ben felt more at ease in another person’s presence than he had in, well, a long time. Talking to Poe didn’t count, since it almost always bordered on harassment. A corner of his lip tugged upward.

“Yeah, I think I got both of those.”

“Well then,” Rey said, pouring a shot of clear liquid. When she brought it closer, he could smell that it was tequila. “This calls for a toast, doesn’t it?” She raised her glass, inclining her head towards him. “To Ben – wait, what’s your last name?”

“Solo.”

“Hmm,” she raised a brow at him as well. “To Ben _Solo’s_ ,” she rolled it languidly on her tongue and Ben tried not to shiver, “newfound courage. And luck. Cheers.” They bumped glasses, tapped them on the table, and Ben watched the long column of her neck as she tossed it back in one go. He looked at the remains of his own honey-hued beverage and did the same.

“Really, though,” she said, recovering quickly, “I hope it works out. Whatever it is. Just try your best and be yourself.”

_She wouldn’t be saying that if she knew you better._

“Thank you, I’ll try,” he said. It was sincere. He would try. Rey made him want to try. It made him want ‘being himself’ to be a good thing, like she seemed to think it was.

When he asked for the tab, she refused to give it to him, waving him away to the point of aggression.

“Jesus, Ben. Let a girl buy you a drink!” she chuckled, but she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Surrendering, he slipped a twenty under his glass when she was changing the music and waved goodbye. She turned and beamed brilliantly at him. Then she shouted a question as he turned away.

“Hey, wait!” BeeBee looked up from where his book rested on his round belly appearing disgruntled. “What was that crossword clue that you were trying to sort out? When we ‘met’?” She even air quoted from where she leaned against the bar.

Ben snorted, trying to maintain his courage. The courage she’d helped him find. “’One who might become a fiancée.’”

Her bottom lip tucked into her teeth as she smirked, wiggling her taped fingers at him. He let the new song she played usher him out.

A few minutes were spent in his car sipping his thermos and looking at his phone where it rested on his center console. The late hour of eight-thirty stared at him. They’d be asleep soon.

“Fuck it.”

First, he shot off one text. It was kind and generous with opportunities to get together. No specific date was mentioned but there was an assurance to it that would take place at some point. Then he sent another, shorter and warning that if he tried to call Ben wouldn’t answer the phone because he was _driving_ and he wouldn’t want his only son to get a ticket now would he?

Not letting his decision fester, he started the car and let it idle. Finding the air of the car too quiet, too still, he opened his window and drove home.


	5. antidote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let's just stay inside my vehicle  
> i could drive forever let's go  
> your smile is my antidote
> 
> antidote - orion sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfghjkl don't hate me i graduated and redecorated cus my roommate moved out and i've been working hard on jewelry. i love you. please shame me into writing more.

Ben tossed and turned in bed that night. Despite his night cap of sorts, his mind did not quiet. He tried switching shirts, then shorts, then stripping down altogether. Drinking a full glass of water, laying back down, getting back up to piss, then laying down again. Not wanting to commit to heading to the garage, he did push-ups on the floor and crunches over the edge of his bed. Instead of tiring him, it just made him sweat more. His skin had felt sticky and itchy as soon as the slew of texts flooded his phone and they too lay awake in his phone, waiting to be read. They were like a beacon leading him back the way he came, and he’d spent so long walking in one direction that he wasn’t ready to turn around just yet. Even his scalp, now greased with sweat and the oil of his own hands began to itch. Flipping right side up, the blood sliding down from his head, tingling like soft red static to the rest of his body, he stumbled up, disoriented.

He splashed himself with cool water in the bathroom then went to lay down again. Resolving that now was the time to engage his last resort move, he grabbed his pillows, tucking them under one arm, wrenched the comforter up towards the headboard, and dropped the pillows at the end of the bed. Then he crawled into his backwards cocoon and tried to settle in comfortably.

The new angle always helped a bit. Changing the distribution of heat and the map his body made in the bed cooled him. He’d done this as a baby. Well, as a little kid, too. Now he did it as an adult. This wasn’t news to him but tracking the history of his sleeplessness made him think of why it was an unwelcome habit. That _definitely_ wouldn’t help him sleep.

If he texted her, told her what he was doing, she’d laugh. He knew she would. That big whiskey-scratch, smoky, knowing laugh. Ben hadn’t heard it in a year, but he knew it. It lodged itself in the marrow of his bones. Deep in the soft middle. How could it not when he heard it each time that she found him curled up the wrong way the next morning, when he had tried so hard to sleep?

Second to the sound was the sensation of her fingertips. It was only the knuckles that were calloused from signing documents, writing them, drafting for hours in her office at home when his father was away. Ben was allowed to sit in there with her if he was quiet. He’d curl up on the other leather chair in the room, just across from her, eyes flicking between his book and her knuckles that somehow grew whiter and whiter as the night went on. He sometimes wondered if he’d see the bones of her fingers splitting through the skin before she’d send him off to bed.

He knew how her knuckles looked in all of their shades as he watched, but he knew the _feeling_ of the soft pads of her fingertips brushing his hair back. They usually came in that order. Whiskey laugh, fingertips, then his eyes would crack open, her face upside down.

“ _Someone had a rough night_ ,” she had said, every time.

But Ben didn’t know what to say. Ever. Viciously reading, thinking, mulling every word over, backwards and forwards. Poetry from different eras, centuries, perspectives. They somehow gave him everything but the words to say what he needed to. Though he’d had a burst of confidence once in the car, it had shrunk throughout the rest of the ride. The wind battering his ear as he drove, the sound was welcome but the effect, not so much. It seemed to drum all cohesive thought from his brain. All of the ones that had let him muster a resentment-free response in the first place.

Ben needed noise. The silence of his own mind was what backed him into a corner. Or into the opposite end of the bed. But the window hadn’t worked. He needed something else _._

There were a few lyrics he remembered from one of the songs only because she’d turned around. Muffled noises, his own breathing, the mumbling of the other patrons. Those, too, returned, but their familiarity barely stood a chance against something that she chose. Something that she liked. And he liked it, too.

Ben wasn’t the biggest music buff. He had a stage like any other teenager who welcomed the drowning of their own thoughts, as they had grown stronger and stranger in the back of his head. The rhythm of them now was the familiar sound as the whiskey-laugh grew smaller, and Ben sometimes thought he heard a breath, a deep inhale before they began, and the soft, malevolent heartbeat in between. His little finger found to crease in his palm and pet it once.

Shaking himself and running his hand across his forehead, Ben fished for his phone somewhere on his nightstand, reaching down beside his feet.

“Ergh, fuck,” he groaned, the blue light blaring. First accidentally turning down the volume then fumbling at the brightness, he searched the few lyrics he could remember.

“ _Let's just stay inside my vehicle_ _, I can drive wherever let's go_ _…”_ The one he wanted for the first result. Ben clicked the volume back up to a soft hum and laid it face down next to his pillow. Or the humming may have been him, curled up on his side with his knees tucked to his chest, as he fell off to sleep.

*

Monday found Ben rested. He floated out of bed before his alarm, puttering with ease and without incident through his routine. Even while he retrieved the paper. His disappointment was only minute, fleeting.

In two weeks’ time, he would have dinner with his parents. It was decided. And they’d go to one of those places he’d driven by on Friday. One of the ones with crisp linens and real silverware. The date had been his choosing as he would have enough time to prepare himself while the location was his mother’s. He secretly approved of it also, glad for a public setting that was less likely to incite an incident than his parents’ house. Though they were not short on locations where at least one of them had thrown a fit.

Despite his nerves, Ben felt more at peace than he had in quite some time. They had a plan and a decent conversation that lead to making that plan. Well, him and his mother did. Ben had texted Han and told him he’d set a date with Leia. But a plan was a plan. Reliability was something he had come to treasure. And everything was more easily digestible when he had gotten some rest.

Ben tucked the paper into his bag on his way to the car. When he pulled out of his driveway, windows cracked, Ben heard the telltale sound. As he slowly accelerated up the street the sound grew stronger, gaining on him foot by foot, until it leveled with his passenger side window. He didn’t look to his side, but he did check his rearview mirror to ensure no one was flying up the street behind him so he could keep his slow pace before the school zone. It was at a stop sign that he noticed sharp movement.

“Hey!”

Ben turned to find Rey leaning dangerously far back on her bike to peer at him through his window. Feigning surprise, he lowered the window all the way.

“Rey?” He asked, hoping he sounded convincing.

“Yeah!” She shouted back, pointing at herself unnecessarily. The reflection of the rising sun on her teeth nearly made him recoil. “You stalking me, weirdo?”

Sputtering, he replied, “Ha! No, no I live up the street,” and he gestured behind him. She squinted and put at hand over her eyes, looking back down the road. “Blue mailbox.”

“Hm, I’m familiar,” she said, sounding a far away. Ben felt his jaw hang open, about to ask what the hell that meant when he heard honking behind him.

“ _Oi_! Fuck off!” Rey shouted, making an obscene gesture over her shoulder. Ben’s jaw dropped again, forgetting himself until Rey looked at him, eyes glinting. Checking the traffic on both sides, she twisted her hand over her handlebars twice. “Let’s go, Solo!”

Standing tall, she bounded through the stop sign and Ben, without knowing why, floored it. She’d gotten a head start, so it took a second for him to catch up.

There wasn’t anyone else on the road save the person in the car behind him, who he was sure was glad to be rid of him. He only sped up enough to keep pace with Rey as they entered the school zone, demanding that he slow down anyway. Brown hair zig-zagged along her back as she darted glances at him with her lip between her teeth. More freckles shouted along her chin and jaw as she did so. The back of his tongue was thick with the heavy beating of his heart.

He accelerated, bypassing the speed limit just enough that his front wheel was ahead of her front tire as his palms slipped over the dampened leather of his steering wire. The same tire swerved in his direction playfully, making him gasp. A gleeful laugh pierced the air before her tire leveled out, her ass bobbing over her straightened legs.

They approached the last light before the entrance to their parking lot as it turned yellow. Ben had just enough room to slow to a gentle stop if he started now, but his blood felt hot and his hair brushed the tops of his eyelashes and he saw Rey look back at him through his windshield over her shoulder. Spine curved generously, thrusting her breasts forward and her pert rear back towards him. Bottom lip white and grinning, she hunched lower over her handlebars, challenging him.

Her eyes were vivid in the expanding day, the sun slanting over them both, deepening her skin, turning it red in places, the ones were her freckles collected in small pools. Ben could see her chest heaving, and she popped her lip out of her mouth to take a deep panting breath, locking eyes with him before they crossed the intersection.

Then she licked her lips, turning them pink as her bright, young blood rushed to fill the space she’d blocked it from.

Ben slammed on the breaks, stopping halfway through the crosswalk. Rey’s front tire swerved a bit, then kept going. He saw her look back, brows furrowed once she’d safely made it to the other side. Until the light turned green, he sat with the person driving behind him honking and swearing uproariously. He could just hear it over his own breath that he worked to steady, hands trembling on the steering wheel.

Ben took his time getting out of his car. He sat drinking water for several minutes, then several minutes more after he felt calm again. Checking his bag twice to make sure he had all that he needed, glancing at his crossword without reading it, he looked around the parking lot for any familiar figures and stepped out of the car.

On the way into the building, he saw Rey’s bike locked on to one of the various racks propped against the brick exterior. Ben ducked his head, feeling his face flame. Even looking at the damn thing made him feel like a fool.

He could’ve gotten someone killed. It was one thing if he swerved and hit a tree. At least no one would’ve gotten stuck in the crossfire. Just his damn self alone in a flaming vehicle.

What if he’d clipped one of Rey’s tires? She wasn’t wearing anything protective except her helmet. What if she was thrown off? Or he wasn’t quick enough to cross the intersection? He was lucky he got away with just pissing off the person behind him. Lucky.

_Rey shouldn’t have goaded you,_ he thought. _That was completely irresponsible. You wouldn’t have ever done something like that if she had enticed you._ Ben shook his head, entering the stairwell with his hands clenched in his pockets. Little bits of anger splintered over his skin, making him itchy.

_That’s something your father would have done. Careless._

In a second Ben’s right hand was out of his pocket and poised against the stairwell wall, his pinky nail tucked in the little curve of scar tissue.

_Stop._ _You know how this always ends for you._

“I get myself hurt,” Ben said and dropped his fist. He really was lucky, because the stairwell walls were cement. Now Ben’s hands shook for an entirely different reason. He moved to run them through his hair, then stopped and shook them out.

Herbal tea. People drank that sometimes. Leia used to at night after her crystal tumbler was drained. There was no room he could lock himself in. None with any real privacy. He had office neighbors. But some tea. That would help.

Skipping his office, he made straight for the lounge to the little, peeling faux-wood table. It wasn’t hard to find a chamomile. The green tea was the hidden gem in the little cubbies. Ben grabbed a paper cup, then decided to set it down on the table under the hot water stream. Burning himself wouldn’t help. Dunking the bag into the water and grabbing a jacket and lid, Ben felt a presence over his shoulder. They didn’t touch him, so he know it wasn’t Poe.

“Hey,” he heard. This time, the word was soft and subdued.

“Hi.” Ben didn’t meet her eyes, but he did slow his movements. After pouring in a bit of skim, he clicked the plastic lid into place.

“Er, listen. I – well,” she cleared her throat. He placed the cup in the jacket. “I – I didn’t mean to scare you. I was only joking around. I guess it wasn’t a very funny joke.” Ben’s eyes snapped to hers, and he saw them change from uncomfortable to startled.

“’Wasn’t very funny?’” Ben saw Rey gulp. “You could have gotten yourself killed. _I_ could have hurt _you_. So no, it wasn’t ‘very funny.’” She frowned and turned towards the table. Picking up a cup herself, she grabbed the container of instant coffee and popped it open.

“Well,” she huffed, “You didn’t, did you? You didn’t hurt me, and I didn’t hurt myself, so there’s nothing to worry about!” Taking two spoonful’s of the powder, she thrust it under the hot water and stirred it with a little wooden stick as her nosed scrunched tight. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You don’t need to look out for me.” The brown powder dissolved into a thin, pathetic liquid. Ben deflated as he watched her.

“It’s just – Rey, I could have. I _know_ I could have. I –,” She must’ve decided that the color was too weak, so she added another spoonful, stirred, and opened the half and half. “You just – _we_ should be careful.” Ben watched her frown turned into what he could only call a pout as she dashed the cream and closed it again. “Why are you drinking that?”

Rey held up the carton. “The half and half? Should I not be? Is it expired?” Turning it, she searched for the printed date.

“No, the instant coffee. There’s a fresh pot ready on the burner.” The lines indicated that it hadn’t even been touched yet. Someone actually refilled it after having finished the previous one. Ben remembered his own tea and blew on it before taking a sip.

Rey looked at the Foldger’s and scoffed. “Ha. No, I will not be drinking that.”

“Why not?” Ben blew once more then sipped.

“Because I don’t drink incest coffee.”

Ben snorted so hard the lid of his tea dislodged and the contents sprayed all down the front of his shirt. Rey watched him with her jaw unhinged and he didn’t dare move at the risk of spilling more. It took a few seconds until the scorching heat now blanketing his body registered.

“ _Ow.”_

“Oh my god,” Rey’s jaw snapped shut and she put down her coffee. “Here,” and she took Ben’s cup and placed it down on the table. “C’mon,” she mumbled and grabbed his hand, leading him quickly out of the lounge and into the hallway and its single person restroom.

Ben only felt his stomach flutter briefly when she locked the door behind her, but then she set upon the paper towel dispenser, chortling to herself though trying to hide it.

His bag had little beads of moisture trickling down its oily, leather surface. “Full of jokes today, huh?” Ben asked, standing still with his arms held out from his sides. Then she keeled over laughing, holding her stomach and letting her hair fall around her shoulders.

“Give me those if you’re just gonna stand there,” he said, reaching out a hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, straightening. Striding up to him, he expected her to put them in his hand, but instead she began blotting the most affected areas, namely his chest and stomach. She seemed to think nothing of this. “Move this,” she said, indicating his bag. The strap fell over a particularly doused area. He peeled it over his head, trying not to spread the mess, and dropped it to the floor. As he shook his hair, she continued. “It’s just funny. Incest coffee. Who would’ve thought that would be my killer one-liner of the day?”

“Well, it was certainly better than the death race,” Ben grumbled. The blotting of her gentle fingers slowed. The small knuckles rested against his sternum.

“Listen, I really am sorry about that.” Her eyes stayed resolutely on his chest.

“Rey?” The glassy eyes drifted to his own. “The last thing I wanna do is put you in danger. I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said sincerely, “I want to keep you safe.”

_Where did that come from?_ _Didn’t she just say she can take care of herself?_ Rey needn’t be a mind reader, because he said whatever he thought when he was around her.

The wavering rise and fall of her chest held as she stared at him, unblinking. She didn’t argue. “Okay.” The thumb of her right hand played with one of the buttons near his upper abdomen.

“Good.” Not knowing what to make of her expression, he placed his hand over hers to pick it up for a moment, then pulled his own shirt away from his chest to speed the drying process.

“Do you have a t-shirt on under there?”

“Yeah, why?” Ben replied, fanning the fabric.

Rey exhaled dramatically. “Ben,” she said, sounding very grave, “you might have to sacrifice the button down for a few hours.” He met her eyes and she nodded resolutely, holding out her hand. Ben sighed and tried not to think about the intimacy of the act as he unbuttoned his shirt, taking his time.

His t-shirt was white and splotchy, though drying fast. Handing Rey the fabric, he watched her eyes drag from him to the shirt in her hand.

“Er, um,” she said, then held the shirt up. “Yeah, this should dry fast. Just fan it out over the A/C unit under the window.”

Ben pulled at the t-shirt, unsticking it from his chest and trying to fan it. He felt exposed and unsure. “Pfft, you have an A/C?” He chuckled awkwardly.

“Wha – you don’t have an A/C?”

“I’m kidding,” he said, ducking and blowing air into the neck of his shirt. Did his nipples _attract_ water?

“Ah, _there_ he is!” Rey said, then hummed. She waved the shirt back and forth like it was clipped to a laundry line and turning in the breeze. The small space, the walls even, seemed to soften as she made gentle noises to herself. Ben could stand here, listening to her vibrations echo around them for hours.

“When do you work next?” He asked. The air on his damp skin was cooling him quickly.

She looked over at him, lip quirked. “Wednesday. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind me stopping in again?” She seemed to deflate, so he rushed to speak. “Unless I slowed you down the other night. It’s your job, of course I don’t want to get in your way.”

“No!” She said, then cleared her throat. “No, you wouldn’t be in my way. You should come. I’d love your company.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” she said and gave him a shy nod. Her eyes locked back on his shirt that she was still holding. At this point, he wasn’t so sure what they were still doing in there, but he didn’t dare rush her away. Her narrow sneakers held her weight in alternating intervals as she shifted side to side.

“Hey, Ben.”

“Hmm?” He reluctantly pulled his gaze from her narrow ankles.

“One flick or two?” She said. He furrowed his brow. “One flick or two?!” Rey insisted, then looked pointedly as his chest. His arms crossed protectively over it, tucking his hands under his armpits and covering his very pointy nipples.

“ _Jesus,_ it’s like no matter what _I do_ –” he whined as Rey keeled over again in laughter, this time wiping her eyes and clutching his shirt to her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am @star_pilots on twitter! come yell at me!


	6. dedicated to the one i love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> each night before you go to bed, my baby  
> whisper a little prayer for me, my baby  
> and tell all the stars above  
> this is dedicated to the one i love
> 
> dedicated to the one i love - the shirelles  
> (cover by the mamas & the papas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hate me :) i have only just discovered that i need 2-3 espresso's a day to do all of the stuff that i want to do :) thank you for your patience :) much love :)

_Jitter-free jitter juice_ , five letters, across. Ben tapped the end his ‘pilot’ pen on the surface like a dull drum roll.

_That would’ve been a good outlet. Could have saved a few walls, a window even._

Ben refocused his efforts. “ _Jitter juice_?” he mumbled at no one, stopping in the middle of the hallway on his way to the lounge.

Distantly, he heard footsteps approaching behind him. They slowed, then quickly gained speed until whoever it was was bounding down the hallway.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Ben winced, bracing himself.

“Buddyyyy _yyyy_ YYYY!” Then a hand landed on his back so hard he gagged on his tongue. “Good morning, how are you, let’s get drinks later.”

Ben coughed loudly into his fist. “Good morning, I _was_ doing well, and I can’t.”

Poe waved his hand in the air in front of Ben’s face. “That’s good, you’ll get over it, and yes you can.”

“No, I actually _can’t_ , but thanks for trying to reorder my schedule for me. You’re a terrible assistant, by the way,” he said, then looked down at the clue again, as if glaring at it would make it give up the answer.

“What are you stuck on?” Poe tilted his head around to get a better look, their two, dark, curly heads tucked together.

“ _Jitter-free jitter juice,_ ” Ben said, muffled around the pen cap between his teeth.

“Decaf.”

Ben frowned. He should’ve known that. “Hm. Fits. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. But I _will_ accept payment in the form of drinks on you tonight.”

Ben sighed. He was tired, and his brain was too cloudy. “I mean it, Poe. I actually can’t.”

Poe sighed back. “Fine, drinks on me.”

Shoulders sagging, Ben managed a chuckle. “Listen, I know I won’t be able to avoid it for long, so I’m resigned to it happening. I just _actually cannot_ tonight.”

“Why? Got a big sonnet discussion group?” Poe said. He planted his hands on his hips. Ben could tell his constant attempts to brush him off were getting to him, finally.

“ _No_. I’m meeting up with someone already.”

A dangerous twinkle came over his eyes, tense posture receding. “ _Ooh_ , and who might that be?”

Ben immediately started sputtering. “Nothing, no one. You wouldn’t know her.” He cursed under his breath when he saw his eyes go wider.

“I wouldn’t know her, huh?” Poe leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s unlikely, given the fact that I know you have no social life outside of this institution, and I know the names of everyone that comes through here. Spill it.”

Ben shook his head, aggravated that he was right. Looking up and down the hallway, he mumbled, “Not yet. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Poe’s eyes lit up and he bounced on his toes, looking very like the boy who used to drag him around the play pen. It made Ben both nostalgic and, somehow, more anxious. “Tomorrow? You’re free tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Ben grumbled, ducking his head away from his cheerful smile and filling out the earlier clue.

“Excellent!” Poe said, then clasped him on the shoulder. “I’m looking forward to hearing about this ‘nothing girl.’”

Ben couldn’t help the small smile that creased his lips. “Me too.”

*

The ‘nothing girl’ was really something. Ben sat at his same spot at the bar, glass of water in hand, and watched as Rey danced and tapped her foot while she stirred his cocktail. Ben had already unbuttoned his shirt so that his t-shirt was visible, feeling a bit more appropriate for the setting, if a bit uncomfortable.

He thought about what Poe said about ‘loosening up’ and snorted into his glass.

_Ben Solo, look at all those undone buttons, you absolute scoundrel._

Ben was the first person to arrive once she’d opened, self-conscious until she beamed and set a glass of water where he’d sat last time. At first, he’d declined a drink, intent on hydrating himself thoroughly first, but she’d made quite a show about having nothing to do.

The bar top was always smooth and polished, despite it’s clear wear and small grooves, but he hadn’t connected the dots to who kept it so. Rey sprayed a concoction that smelled both piney and clean on the far end of the bar and leaned over it to wipe it down.

She started with long, wide swipes balanced on the tips of her toes in order to reach the opposite edge, ass clearly on display. Always in those little bike shorts.

_She’s…she’s_ teasing _you._

Then she worked on what must have been a particularly tough spot because her hand scrubbed forward and back so vigorously that her round hips shook with the effort, as did everything else.

“You doin’ okay back there?” Rey threw over her shoulder, the one she was pulling her hair off of with her unoccupied hand. “How’s your water?”

“It’s –” Ben said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “It’s good. Cold.”

“Mm.”

After quickly finishing two glasses and taking a trip to the heavily graffitied and tiny bathroom, she pouted at him.

“C’mon, Solo, I’m not here for fun,” she said, and crossed her arms over her chest. Tonight, she wore a cropped zip-up that showed an ample amount of her defined torso.

“Fine! Can you do a Manhattan?” He needed a sipper if he was to maintain some composure for a few hours, despite already walking a fine line over his desire.

Rey scoffed. “What kind of question is that? We’re a bar, not a total dive.” She spun on her clogged heel, chest puffed out, and sauntered over to her station. Ben thought he heard her mumble, “ _can you do a Manhattan_?” to herself in a failed imitation of his deep voice.

She wiggled while she stirred. Her dexterous fingers pushed the spoon forward and back, swirling the ice against the glass. Mesmerized by her movements he asked, “how was Maz’s this week?”

“What?” She yelled over the low music. Spoon removed, she tilted the little mixer and strained the drink into an elegant glass that had been hidden in a rack above the bar.

“How was Maz’s this week?” He said louder, uncomfortably aware that he was shouting.

“What!” Rey dropping a deep purple cherry into the glass.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. “ _How was_ – !”

Running to him, drink in hand, she planted her hand over his mouth and giggled. He stared at her with wide eyes. “I’m just messing with you!”

Her palm was soft and wet from condensation. It dripped over his lips when she removed her hand, though she took her time doing so. Ben dipped his tongue over his bottom lip and shook his head. “You’re so…”

Biting her lip, she asked him for more. “I’m ‘so’ what?”

“Nothing,” he blurted out, flushing. Ben ducked his head, unsure of where he was even going with that train of thought. Granted, he could’ve gone in many directions. Some sweet and simple, while others…

_So much. So vivid._

Disappointment flashed across her face, but then she set her shoulders back. “Well _I_ think _you’re_ so –” she stopped then looked at him pointedly.

A laugh popped out of his mouth. “Fair enough.”

She smiled at him and trailed her fingers along his waterglass, dragging the wetness pooling off of it around. With effort, he pulled his eyes away and sipped at the new drink she’d set in front of him.

“And because you’re so sweet and I’m so rude, Maz’s was great, as always. She basically just texts me every few days saying ‘when?’ and then I tell her my availability and that’s it. It’s either really undemanding or I’m a fucking genius because it doesn’t feel like work at all.”

Ben nodded. “No, I understand that. You’re doing what you love and that makes a huge difference.”

“Yeah? Are you?” she asked, propping her elbows on the bar.

His brow furrowed and he looked at the cherry in his glass. “I think so?”

“You’re not sure?”

He met her eyes. They weren’t asking for much except the truth, which was easy for him to give to her. It spilled over the sides in little drops, like a full glass that kept getting nudged over and over.

“I mean, I’m doing what I love in that I’m reading things I love, and working with content that I love, but sometimes I wonder if I love being an educator.”

It’s hard to know if you love something because you felt obliged to do it, or the obligation was born out of love. It felt like one of few options for so many years, he didn’t question it.

“Hm,” she said. An index finger tapped on the bar in front of him. He took another sip while she watched. “Well, do you think you’re a good teacher?”

He shrugged. “I think so. I’ve gotten pretty far doing it.”

“And do you enjoy seeing your students succeed?”

“I like seeing them _improve_ ,” he said. She tilted her head at him. “What?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” she mimicked him again. “Do you think you’re offering your students something they couldn’t get elsewhere?”

“How so?”

“You know, like,” she pondered, then dragged her hand along the glass’s condensation again, slower, “do you think you’re offering yourself to your students in a way that, say, enriches their lives or expands their worldview? Makes them really think?”

His eyes watched her fingers trace the grooves in the bar with the liquid, carrying it along its many twists and turns. Pulling it out of small dips and back up over the ledge. Sometimes she took a path he wasn’t expecting, but she continued on like it was nothing.

“I think so. I push them. Sometimes a bit too hard, but I know it’s necessary.”

“Then you’re a good teacher. Some just spew the curriculum and nothing else, but if you know that your students are really, really getting it, then you’re already doing better than others.”

Rey was so confident that he was helping people. Making their lives better somehow. Ben couldn’t make sense of it. Didn’t even consider it as an outcome. Yet, she didn’t even question it. How could she be so certain of this? What did she know that he didn’t?

_She doesn’t know anything about you_.

But she _thinks_ she knows him. Believes him to be good. Could he become that? As good as she thought he was?

_‘You’re so sweet.’_

“I mean, I guess that’s true,” Ben mumbled, growing irritated, but not at her.

She pressed on, unaware. “But, you’re still not sure if you love it?”

He took a deep, deep breath. “Maybe. I want to. I just haven’t had a student that made me love it as viscerally as I should. In a way that affects me, too. I’m not sure what that will take.”

Hands clasped as she leaned on the bar, she nodded. Her gaze held him, and he didn’t know what she wanted this time, so he redirected to less demanding territory, hoping to lose his edge. “What made you love music?”

She blinked. “Oh, you could tell?” That made him laugh. It was working already. “Er, I got my hands on a CD player when I was about eight. An older kid ‘broke’ it and gave it to me.” Leaning in, she whispered, “she just needed different batteries. But I ‘fixed’ it and kept it. iPods were getting more popular, so I was actually able to snag a lot of CDs from people when they saw I still had one.” She shrugged. “That and not many people expect a nine-year-old to steal from the $1 CD bin.”

That made him frown, confused. “Wait, you stole CDs? How many?”

Rey shrugged taking her elbows off the bar and looking down her nose at him. Ben thought this was rather backwards and he frowned deeper. “I don’t know. 20 or 30?”

“30 CDs? When you were nine?”

“Well, it was over a few years. It wasn’t just all at once.”

Ben shook his head. “What else have you stolen?”

A look came over Rey’s face that took him a moment to parcel out, because he’d never seen it directed at him before. Only some semblance of it at the men that sat the bar last week, or the one that honked at them the other day.

But that was brief, barely tangible in contrast.

This was anger. Pure, genuine anger, and he realized his misstep shrank back in his seat, his former ire small and pathetic in his chest.

Now her hands gripped the edge of the bar and she leaned forward, hair surrounding her face in a blunt, soft frame.

“Not that it’s _any_ of your business, but I’ve stolen,” she began counting off on her fingers, “CDs, eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss, soda, pads, tampons –”

“Rey, listen –”

“ – food, socks, underwear, toilet paper –”

“ – please, _wait_ –” he reached out to gently clasp her hand that she was counting off on, the new heat of it shocking his body, before she wrenched it away.

“ – and liquor from behind this bar. Wanna call the cops on me?”

Her cheeks were red, and her fists were clenched, and he could tell that she was trembling. If she reached out and struck him right now, he wouldn’t find himself undeserving.

“Rey, listen,” he put his head in his hands. “God, I really fucked this up, didn’t I?” He picked his head up. “I’d never call the cops on you, or anyone really.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and waited. Her body was like walking flames, though it shook, its wispy ends timid in their reach. Its light reflected in her eyes, which were shinier than normal under the Christmas lights strung above them.

Rey was waiting for him to judge her.

“Rey, I don’t know your life,” he said, starting over. “I could never judge you for anything at all. It would be stupid and deeply hypocritical of me to do that.” Lines paved between her brow as he finished. Even if it startled him, confused him to find this out about her, he knew that if the roles were reversed, if he’d told her anything that he’d done in confidence, she would be kind even if she shouldn’t be.

“I’m sorry, Rey.”

At this point, her hands rested on the edge of the bar again, in their shared territory. He reached out and placed his fingers gently over hers. She didn’t move them.

Instead, her body stiffened with a small gasp.

Ben had touched her before. In fact, that was the first thing he’d done when he met her, albeit accidentally. Save that somewhat violent first meeting and him trying to grab her hand the first time earlier, he had never initiated. It was all her.

Yet, the small brush of his fingers made her lips part and look at him with glassier eyes than before.

Then she closed her mouth and swallowed, nodding at his apology. Afraid of overextending himself, he withdrew his hand and sipped his drink. She watched him pinch the small stem of the glass between his fingers.

“This is really good, by the way. I hardly deserve it now, but everything you make is good.”

_Everything you do_.

“Thank you,” she said, softly. Ben had his bag resting on the seat next to him and her eyes darted to it. “Do you always finish your crosswords?”

He glanced at his bag. “Yes. I always get them by the end of the day. Some I have to sit on for hours though.”

She hummed in understanding. “Can I see it?” He placed it in her hands. Glancing at the headlines, she turned to the page.

“You don’t mark the page up at all, huh?”

Ben knew what she was referring to. The clues and margins were free of marginalia and guesses.

“No. I like to keep it clean, hence the pen.”

Exasperation covered her face. “Ben, it’s a bloody crossword.”

“I know!” he whined defensively. “I just like it to look nice, is all.” He could tell she was biting back a smile. “What?”

“It must be tough being so perfect all the time,” she said with a teasing smile and tilt of her head.

“Stop,” Ben said, hiding in his drink, needing the crisp burn that trickled down his throat so that he wouldn’t be swallowed by embarrassment.

“Why?” She leaned further on the bar. The zipper of her sweatshirt was undone a bit at the top.

“Because…”

“Aw, ‘because’ why, Ben?” she said in a little sing-song baby voice.

She was going to keep this up, he just knew it. This wasn’t like bickering with Poe. He did that because he could and had years of expertise doing so. This little creature across from him, always asking him for the things he did not want to give up, things he sometimes didn’t even know he had, her dance was different. He might as well learn a few steps.

He leaned his own elbows on the bar, leaving only a few inches between them. “Because _you_ would know better than I.”

Eyebrows drawn together, disrupted from her little game, she asked, “What would I know better?”

“What it’s like to be perfect.”

Ben could barely believe his nerve, but it had the desired effect. Rey blushed, looking away from him at her hands that nearly touched his forearms.

“It’s so _hard_ , Ben,” she said, and that whiny tone. He swallowed, fidgeting, feeling himself losing ground. “It’s not easy, but it’s my burden to bear.” She met his eyes again.

“You bear it well.”

“Hm, that I do. I’ve had practice, you see.” Leaning in, like she was divulging a secret, she continued, “All those years of sneaking and stealing. I’ve had years of practice in the noble art of perfecting.” Ben tried to contain his chuckle, but she noticed. “Do you not believe me?”

“No, I do. Such a good little scavenger. I just wish I had your talent,” Ben moaned with pronounced melancholy, drawing on his reading voice from years of teaching Shakespeare.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she crooned. “Well, perhaps it’s the teacher that must become the student,” she said, leaning in further. Then her cheek tucked against his, the ends of his hair sticking to her own temple, lips a hair’s breadth away from his ear.

“ _I’ll help you_.”

Ben couldn’t help the chuckle blanketed by a sigh that left his lips. Rey pulled away only minutely to let her eyes skitter over his face. Ben looked only at them as they analyzed every inch of him, feeling both self-conscious and delighted to have so much to draw her focus. Letting his eyes finally rest on her lips, he saw them quirked slightly, humor pulling her plush mouth wide. He wanted to pry it open further with lips, tongue, fingers…

_Laughing at you. Always laughing_ at _you._

His body pulled away before his brain registered it happening. The corners of her mouth dropped. He took a sip of his drink to avoid having to watch her features tumble down, down, down.

_Laughingstock of the family._

A new song came on and it must have been bad because Rey immediately whipped around.

“Oh, bugger.”

She flew over to the old iPod that was plugged into the speakers, pausing it. They were still the only ones in the bar, so the silence rang like a bell.

_A warning bell. Sirens._

“Ben?”

Her voice was small. From this distance she felt miles away, tiny.

Instead of answering he knocked back his drink, saving the cherry for the very end. It split between his teeth, its juice tickling the hinge of his jaws.

“Do you want to put something on?” His eyes shot up. “My – my queue ended, and I don’t want to start it over again. Do you want to put something on?” Green pools pleaded with him. Little olive branches.

But for what? Ben wasn’t sure if he knew. Wasn’t sure of her, still, somehow.

What he did know was that he couldn’t disentangle himself from her. From her unknowingly offering him the world on a platter, all a part of her game. Giving him something that he did not know existed.

But he had played it, too. Had he done the same?

If he stormed out, a cluster of his own dark emotions, he would never find out. And he wanted to hear it from her. From her perfect mouth. Her perfect body.

He had to be sure of something, even if he didn’t know how to ask it himself.

So, he nodded and walked to the part of the bar closest to her and within reach of the iPod cord. She handed it to him, and he tried to remain unaffected by the brush of her fingers.

He thought for a second, mulling it over, seeing her small, nervous movements out of the corner of his eye as she waited for him.

_I_ want _to be sure of something._

Ben found the song he was looking for and turned it up another two notches, too loud to simply be ambient noise in the background, but not loud enough to overtake everything.

Rey nodded along for a second, then she looked up and beamed.

“Wait, I know this one. It’s a classic!”

Ben just smiled, not yet trusting his own voice. His own words. They could fail him, still. That much he knew.

“ _When I’m far away from you, my baby…I know it’s hard for you, my baby…_ ” she sang, swaying to the beat with her eyes closed. He watched her, waiting.

“ _And the darkest hour is just before dawn…_ ” and she hung her head, getting ready for the chorus.

“ _Each night before you go to bed, my baby,_ ” they belted, Rey startling as Ben pounded his fist on the bar to the beat of the drums, but he didn’t stop. He leaned over the bar towards her, “ _Whisper a little prayer for me, my baby!_ ” Rey did not falter, just as he had expected. Just as he tried not to let himself hope for.

“ _And tell all the stars above … this is dedicated to the one I love_ ,” they sang in a whisper. Their tune wasn’t great, his voice cracked, but it didn’t matter. He just wanted to hear her.

“ _I could be satisfied knowing you love me_ ,” he belted, feeding it to her.

“ _And there’s one thing I want you to do, especially for me_ ,” she whispered back. Her eyes shone so bright. Full of feeling.

_She’s so damn_ good.

“ _And it’s something that everybody needs…_ ” and they pounded on the bar to make it last, burrowing it in the wood, so that whoever saw it would know, whoever touched it would know. They could make sure the other would not, could not forget.

And they cried out the chorus again.

*

Later, Ben was at home in bed. Much later. After singing himself and Rey hoarse, him saying all he could to her in someone else’s words, and her responding in equal fervor. It had been a slower night for her. No one else showed up for several hours. They took advantage of the small space for as long as they could, dancing on opposites sides of the bar, skirting its edges, as if circling.

Now, he wondered what would have happened if they were, say, somewhere else. Anywhere else. A place where there wasn’t a fine line for either of them to breach. Despite this, they toed it and toed it until it bent and curved into a new shape, though still a barrier regardless.

Ben had felt like he was on the verge of snapping when a flood of customers came in. It sounded like a bigger, corporate group celebrating a birthday among them. They filled up the stools and spilled into tiers further and further back into the room. Ben had watched in awe as Rey, calm an authoritative, took care of each and every customer, pouring and shaking and stirring in stride.

Nervous about being another body amidst a growing crowd, Ben shrunk in his seat, shoving a fifty under his water glass. Rey had noticed, of course, and stopped everything to pick it up and throw it at him as he shuffled out of his stool.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ , Ben Solo.” Ben felt properly chastised until she winked and said, “See you Friday.”

Ben turned over when and _why_ he would see her Friday, by school or by bar as he drove himself home. He admitted to himself that he wouldn’t mind by a different means either, but he wasn’t sure how that would happen just yet.

Now, at home, Ben lay awake in his bed.

Again.

He’d reached the point of stillness that finally came when one’s given up, resigned to a restless night. Beyond the huffing and puffing from rolling from one side to the other. Stripped naked, he’d even engaged his last resort move. From there, he looked at the ceiling turned upside down, his surroundings like new. Like freshly turned earth.

Ben liked Rey.

He liked her so goddamn much.

Whereas last week soft thoughts of her lulled him to sleep, this time they kept him wide awake.

He liked her so much and he didn’t even understand her, but he also understood her perfectly.

Wanting him to spend time with her at the bar. Insisting. Never making him pay and drawing him further and further in with every one of her movements.

The trembling of her body when he’d touched her so gently. Her teasing, playing, riling him up so he’d submit himself to her thinking; that he was lovely, perfect, sweet. Him saying so to _her_. Wanting to blanket her in it, to cover every inch of her lonely body.

That blush.

Without that telltale sign he truly would have thought it was all a game. Was led to believe as such by the near impossibility of it, her so young and beautiful and him so old and strange. It didn’t make sense to him, but to watch her bloom before his eyes was a different story.

It sealed it.

Now Ben wondered what to do.

She’d watched him shut down and succumb to the voice that he thought he’d stomped mostly out. The one he’d spent years reading away, kicking and punching and screaming away. Freckles slid back down her face as he reared back when she was right there in front of him. Right there _waiting._

Even after he’d hurt her.

He’d made so many assumptions, both wrong and right. She’d done things for survival, to make her life bearable. Just like him, even if his methods just made it worse, but that wasn’t her fault. None of it was. None of _him_ was her fault, nor her obligation.

Yet she wanted him anyway.

_God. The way she looked bent over that bar_. _Singing with you, that long neck bent back, her tits pushed out. Her little nipples just visible from her open sweatshirt._

Ben groaned and reached down to palm his leaking cock.

He’d promised her a prayer, hadn’t he? Just one, before he fell off to sleep.

He pushed his blanket down around his knees, spit on his palm, and dragged it over his length from head to balls.

_I wonder if she’s praying for me, too._

He moaned to the empty room. It felt cavernous. He wondered how far away she lived. If it echoed loud enough, maybe she would hear it. Maybe she would call back to him.

That’s all he needed. That thought. Her little fingers shoved into her cunt, panties around her knees, panting his name into the air, to the stars, hoping they’d return it to him.

_“Ben, Ben,_ please _.”_

Her fingers pressing as far as they could, slick coating two, three fingers, but they weren’t his cock. They weren’t enough. She needed his cock.

Ben remembered the look in her eyes as he held her glass. Locked where his fingers touched. Needy eyes. So hungry. He jerked himself harder, squeezing the head.

_Such a hungry little thing_

His fingers barely touched now.

“Fuck, _Rey._ ”

The column of her neck, head thrown back, praying for him.

Coming for him, all over her little fingers. Mouth open for his lips, his tongue, his fingers, his –

_“Oh, God, Ben!”_

He pumped his come over his twitching thighs and stomach, a growl that sent the air quivering fell from his lips.

“ _Rey_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i still have not figured out links in notes, dont text

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @star_pilots on twitter :)


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